How I always bought 4 pound flower bouquets at Sainsbury’s, most often carnations, and how he used to complain: You’ve almost hit nil at your account this month, why on earth do you persist in buying flowers twice a week? But I always felt better afterwards, and our tiny and somewhat shabby Camden flat felt more like a home. I remember those endless days I had off, waking up early afternoon, preparing a full breakfast orgy followed by chain smoking in the window waiting for someone to call and suggest we share a bottle of wine somewhere down Kentish town road. I was always longing for something else but I also knew that it would never be any better than this. So I kept stealing time and created memory images of nostalgia experienced in advance, just to stock up and send off to an apathetic future me.